Toy Trains and Tea
by karly05
Summary: Two weeks before moving to America, Ferb overhears a conversation between his Dad and Grandmother.  It's awfully mild for a T rating, but I'm vaguely implying something about Ferb's parents, and I want to be safe.


**A/N: STOP! If you have not yet done so, please take a few minutes to read "Milkshakes for Two" and "For Real" before you read this story. My references to Ferb's mother in those stories have been building up to this one, and I think it works best if read in the proper order.**

**Toy Trains and Tea**

Ferb Fletcher was sitting on the very bottom step of the staircase that ran up through the center of his grandparents' cottage, a screwdriver in one hand, and his favorite toy, a wind-up tin railroad engine, in the other. He was supposed to be up in the spare bedroom, having a nap, but at the age of four years and two months, he was far too old for such childish things, and besides, he was still determined to make his engine climb the stairs. If only he could work out the mechanics of it.

He could see no one else from his perch, but he could hear his grandfather snoring in the library – old people, he had observed, were much like babies in their nap requirements – and he could hear, and smell, his grandmother preparing tea and scones in the kitchen. Ferb's Dad was in the kitchen with Gran, and Ferb had been listening with one ear to their conversation.

"Are you certain you have everything in order, dear?" Gran was clucking.

"Oh, yes, Mum, not to worry," Ferb's Dad assured her cheerfully. "Passports, airplane tickets, all in order. Ferb can hardly wait to fly; it's all he talks about. I'm planning to ship a few things on ahead this week, then I'll send for the rest once we're settled into our new flat."

"I can't believe it; only two more weeks before you're gone. Heaven only knows when I'll see you or that sweet child again."

"Now, Mum, Ferb and I will be back for visits," said Dad. "After all, it's not as if we're going halfway around the world – Oh, wait. Yes. I suppose America _is_ halfway around the world, isn't it?"

"Bless me, Lawrence, I don't know what's possessed you to go gallivanting off like this."

Dad made a sound as if to answer her, but she cut him off.

"I know, it's your New Year's Resolution," Gran pronounced the words dramatically, as if reading them off a big flashing signboard. "Couldn't you have just dropped a bit of weight, or given up cigars or something, like a normal person?"

"But, I don't smoke cigars…"

Gran's voice was thick. "I just worry about you, darling."

"I know, Mum. But, it's high time for a change. And – I can't explain it, and I know you think I'm daft, but – I have a really good feeling about this move. I had some of the best times of my life, going to University in Danville. It's a lovely city, and I'm certain Ferb will have a jolly time growing up there. It will be an awfully big adventure for him."

By now, Ferb had set aside the screwdriver, and had both arms folded around the tin engine. He wondered if Dad remembered that _an __awfully __big __adventure_ was what Peter Pan had said just before he was about to die. It was true, the prospect of an airplane ride was exciting, but Ferb was a little anxious about moving to America. Dad had painted everything in such happy colors, and had shown him maps and photos of Danville, and the Tri-State Area, but they'd might as well have been moving to the Moon as far as Ferb was concerned. Frankly, he thought he would have preferred the Moon.

The tea kettle was whistling, and Ferb could hear the cozy clanking and clinking of Gran filling the pot and setting out cups, as she said, "Well, I know you'll take good care of him, wherever you are. You always have."

"I've done my best," said Dad, with a little sigh.

"And you've done a splendid job, dear," said Gran softly. "There's not a more darling little chap in the world than Ferb, I'm certain of it. I'm proud of you." The oven door opened and closed, and Gran breathed, "Doesn't that smell lovely?" before Dad spoke again.

"Mum." He hesitated. "There is something I've been thinking about doing, before we go. I can't quite make up my mind to it," he admitted.

"What's that, dear? Oo, mind your fingers, they're hot," she warned, as he apparently reached for a scone.

"I can't help thinking – before we go – perhaps I should say something to Melanie."

There was a sharp bang, as if Gran had put the scone pan back on the stove a bit roughly. "Why on earth would you have anything to say to Melanie?"

"Well, she is – "

"When was the last time you heard so much as a peep out of her?"

"Well, not since – "

"Do you even know where she is?"

"Well, no, that is a problem – "

Ferb sat very still on the stairs, oblivious to the tin train wheel pressing a circular mark into his thin arm. He didn't know anyone called Melanie, but he had never heard his grandmother so angry. She wasn't shouting – Gran never raised her voice – but her words were quick, and her tone was scolding.

"Lawrence Fletcher, why would think you owed that woman so much as one word about this?"

Dad blurted out his answer before she could cut him short again. "Because, she's Ferb's mother."

If the stairs had dropped out from under him at that moment, Ferb could not have been more stunned. He didn't have a mother. He couldn't remember ever having had a mother. No one had ever said a word to him about having a mother, not even a dead one; he had never been taken to a grave to lay flowers for his mother, as he knew other people did. He had never seen a photo of himself with a mother – oh, he'd seen plenty of his own baby photos, going all the way back to his birth: Dad giving Ferb a bath, or a bottle, Dad changing Ferb's nappy, Dad and Ferb reading a book, or playing a game. Dad and Ferb were a Double Act, and this was the first time he had ever heard so much as a word about having a mother.

All of this went through his mind in a flash. Gran was talking again, in a lowered voice this time, and Ferb listened intently.

"No decent mother would do what she did. Walking out one night without so much as a fare-thee-well, and Ferb no more than five months old. 'Spring Fever,' you called it; 'she'll be back when she's had a bit of time to herself,' you said."

"I know," Dad sighed. He sounded tired and sad. "I thought – well, a new baby _is_ a big responsibility, and neither one of us was really prepared, but I honestly believed that, once she got used to the idea, she would love Ferb as much as I do. I'm afraid she was just too much of a free spirit." They were both silent for a minute; Ferb could hear them clinking china and sipping tea. Dad spoke again, quietly. "If we go to America without telling her – Well, what if she wants to see Ferb again someday?"

Gran paused, then said, in a voice more like her usual, gentle self, "She's had time enough to see him already, and she's not done a thing about it. Darling, think of how long it's been since the divorce. You're such a trusting soul, and I know you always look for the best in people, it's one of the things I love most about you. But Melanie is not going to care that you went to America, and she is not going to come looking for Ferb."

Ferb had relaxed his grip on the toy engine, and now examined it closely. The smiling face of the engineer, painted on the window of the cab, was looking a bit blurry, and he rubbed it with his finger in a futile effort to clear it up. No one had ever told him anything about his mother, and now he knew why. Having no mother at all had been so much better than knowing the truth.

"I suppose you're right," Dad murmured, in response to Gran's words. "Well," as usual, he tried to put a cheerful face on things, and almost half-succeeded, "at least next time I'll know better than to fall head over heels for a girl I know nothing about, apart from a pretty face and naturally green hair."

Gran poured another spot of tea. "Lawrence, you're usually so sensible. I still don't understand how you got mixed up with her in the first place."

Ferb didn't fully comprehend his Dad's answer to this, but it would stay with him until he was old enough to understand.

"I… was weak."

**A/N: Everything pertaining to Phineas and Ferb belongs to Dan Povenmire and Jeff "Swampy" Marsh. Melanie is my own invention. For a long time, I assumed Ferb's mother was dead, because I fell for the stereotype that a Mother Would Never Abandon Her Child. Then, eventually, I started thinking about Ferb's "I was weak" at the end of "I Scream, You Scream," and wondered where he'd picked up such a mature idea and… well, this was the ultimate result. Oh, and Lawrence refers to his parents as "Gran and Gramps" when talking to the kids early in "Flying Fishmonger," so that's why I used "Gran" as Ferb's name for his grandmother. This is it for the "Poor Little Ferb!" stuff, at least for now; the next time I write for him, it will be much more light-hearted.**


End file.
